


The Hero and The Warden

by HiddenTohru



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenTohru/pseuds/HiddenTohru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU fic detailing what might happen if one origin story were to become "The Hero of Ferelden", but another origin story survived to become a Warden at a later date. Chapters range from teen to explicit. Fic was started pre-Awakening and thus doesn't include or mention Awakening characters or events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After slaying the Archdemon and settling in to rebuild the Grey Wardens with Alistair, Laeti is faced with the problem of Zevran. Originally written in February 2010.

The fire crackled, and Laeti shivered in her robes and scooted a little bit closer to it. Amaranthine was a fine place in general, but the winter had started with a vengeance this year, and even the large fire she always had burning in her room at the end of the day wasn't enough to drive out all of the chill. She rubbed her hands together to make the blood flow easier, and started thinking of the various things she'd have to deal with the following morning. Sighing, she began to loosen her hair out of the tight braids she kept it in during the day.

It had been two and a half years since she had become the "Hero of Ferelden" by defeating the Archdemon (and it wasn't really her, a tiny voice in her mind nagged), and she and Alistair had done a fairly decent job of making a new base in Amaranthine and finding new recruits. The Orlesian Wardens had sent fifteen people to help with their rebuilding and setting up, and they were almost ready for their first Joining, which Laeti hoped would include at least ten of their most promising recruits. She sometimes wondered if it would have been better to just get everyone who volunteered to drink the tainted blood in the months following the Battle of Denerim, but the Orlesians had cautioned against it. Everyone had wanted to be a Warden just then, and by letting anyone in they would have cheapened the order. They'd lost nearly half of the volunteers by the end of the first year, as she and Alistair trained and drilled them, set them against the roving bands of darkspawn that still plagued the countryside, and otherwise got rid of the starry-eyed ideals of Wardens that she had unwittingly inspired. The Orlesians who had been sent to help had promised to stay five years, until they were sure that she and Alistair had their feet solidly on the ground.

She picked up her hairbrush and began gently smoothing the tangles out of her silver hair. She had kept it so short most of her life, chopped off to keep out of the way of her bowstring and wayward branches when she had been a Dalish hunter, and hadn't seen a reason to change that when she became a Warden and was fighting off the Blight, but since becoming the Warden Commander of Ferelden, she had let it grow. It was as straight and fine as a halla's coat, and grew tangled much more easily, but she was growing to like letting her hair down at the end of the day, and Alistair certainly didn't seem to mind. She smiled as she thought of her lover. He was a bit late for bed, but he almost always was. Unlike her, he found it easy to socialize with their recruits. She was an elf, and Dalish, and their mostly human group found her both awe-inspiring and standoffish. She did her best to be fair to them, following Alistair's lead when it came to rewards or punishments that were necessary, but the truth was that she couldn't truly understand them as he could. It didn't matter, she told herself. They respected her as the Hero of Ferelden, and the Warden Commander, and it didn't matter if they thought they could clap her on the back and share a pint of ale with her. Anyway, they knew Alistair was her lover, although he did draw the line at being a go between. Putting them at ease was one thing, but they all came to understand early on that he wouldn't plead their cases for them.

Of course, there was always Zevran. He had stayed with her when she and Alistair had moved to Amaranthine to get the new Grey Warden base started, and she was sometimes surprised that he had remained. He made excuses any time she tried to ask him why, that way he had of deflecting the truth with flirtations and jokes. He made a point to interrupt her in the middle of the night on a fairly regular basis, unfortunately, and although he was still somewhat of a mystery to her, Laeti suspected that he wasn't happy. She knew that part of it was the way she had ended things with him, even though it was years ago now. They had dallied, and she probably could have fallen in love with him, if it hadn't been for Alistair. Part of her still felt guilty for the way she had ended it, out of the blue like that, and he had seemed so much more hurt by it than she expected from his behavior about their relationship. Still, he hadn't said anything after that, and they had settled uneasily into friendship.

Completely lost in her thoughts and a bit mesmerized by the fire she'd been staring into, Laeti didn't even notice Alistair entering the room until his hand was on her shoulder. She jumped and twisted around, but relaxed the moment she saw his smile. "You're late."

He sighed theatrically and draped himself over the love seat so his head was resting in her lap. "I know, I know. The men wanted to hear about our time in Orzammar again, and then Zev got them all interested in that one time Sten interrupted us in the middle of the woods, and I had to deflect that line of questioning before it got too embarrassing."

Laeti laughed at the memory. "It isn't a very flattering story for you." She ran her fingers through his short hair, then down his cheek and lightly across his lips, just touching him for the sake of touching.

He caught her hand as it ran across his neck and kissed it, catching her eye as he did so. "I know I've said this to you already, but I think we need to do something about Zevran. He makes it seem like he's joking, but there's something hard behind his eyes lately. If it was any other ex-Crow I'd start checking my food for poison."

She shook her head. "I know. I'm not sure what's wrong, but I've been thinking lately that I should talk to him. But that, my love, can wait for the morning. It's going to start snowing again in an hour or so, and I'd like to be snuggled under the covers with you before it gets going."

He shrugged, but moved so she could stand up and finish the rest of her nightly preparations. The way her hair fell over her shoulders, kinked slightly from the tight braids she kept them in, her light robes and her silent movements, made her almost seem like some kind of spirit. It made him shiver, and he stood and went to her side. Whenever he felt that, he had to touch her, to remind himself she was a real woman of flesh and blood. She was just replacing her hairbrush on the vanity, and he wrapped his arms around her from behind, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply the scent of her.

She hesitated only a moment before reaching her hands up and weaving her hands together over his neck, reveling in the feel of his smooth skin and his hands around her waist. He moved down from the top of her head, trailing kisses down along her jawline and onto her neck. Laeti sighed contentedly, and let one of her hands caress his cheek and gently hold him there. Alistair took the hint and nipped gently at her neck, making her gasp.

"Ah, perhaps I've come at a bad time?" Both of them started and looked up to stare at the smirking man standing near the fireplace. Laeti blushed and let her hands drop, but Alistair simply tightened his grip slightly.

"I could have sworn I locked the door when I came in, but of course it wouldn't matter. What do you want, Zevran?" Alistair was frowning severely, but as always, the other man was unfazed.

"A matter of most pressing urgency, I assure you." Zevran held up a sheaf of papers. "These are the latest requisition forms. We're already looking at a hard winter, and especially so if we don't get sufficient supplies. My dear Warden," he continued, addressing Laeti, "you promised you would sign these last week, and yet I don't see your seal on them anywhere."

Alistair let Laeti go then, and strode to the fire to tower over the Antivan. "What the hell? You're coming in here in the middle of the night to hassle us with _paperwork?_"

Laeti sighed and rubbed her eyes with one hand. "Alistair, calm down. I'll sign them in the morning, Zev. Would you mind leaving us alone?"

Zevran shook his head, seemingly oblivious to the scowling man looking down at him. "They really should go out in the dispatch tomorrow morning, and I would hate to interrupt your beauty sleep. Not that you really need it, of course."

"Oh, that's it!" Alistair shouted, his face approaching a shade of purple. He pointed one hand toward the door, his eyes blazing. "Out, or I'll pick you up and throw you!"

The Antivan elf shrugged. "Well, don't blame me if none of the recruits have anything to eat in two weeks. Ah, but I see I've worn out my welcome. Good night." Casually, he walked out the door, closing it with a soft snap behind him.

Alistair turned to Laeti, his face starting to return to its usual color. "You need to talk to him, and the sooner, the better."

Laeti nodded, feeling much wearier than she had only moments before. "Let's just go to bed. I'll sort it out in the morning."

Alistair nodded and followed her to the bed, but after Laeti rolled over and wished him a good night, he made a mental note to repay the favor to Zevran someday.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran muses about his place in the Warden's life, and an unexpected visitor appears.

It had been several hours since he had made his entrance in Laeti and Alistair's quarters, and Zevran still could not sleep. A gentle snow had begun to fall shortly after he returned to his room, and the chill that seeped in under the shutters was a reminder of why he hated winter. Truly, he wished (and not for the first, or even hundredth time) that he could return to Antiva, breathe in the fresh ocean air, and not see snow for a good long time. He grumbled and picked up the glass of Antivan wine, sniffing before tasting, as had become habit when he was still a trainee Crow. Of course, there were many poisons that would be odorless and tasteless, but he'd built up an immunity to most of those. He remembered with some bitterness the years of training he had gone through to become a Crow, honing his skills with weapons, ruthlessly beating down other boys to emerge the victor, spending days sick in bed after the latest poisoning to build up his body's immunity.

_And all to come to this backward country to play secretary to the Hero of Ferelden and her lapdog._ Zevran couldn't place where the bitterness he felt was coming from, but it was someplace tender and raw. He veered away from the feeling and leaned forward to gaze harder into the fire. He did not regret his time at her side, working to save this country from the Blight. It had been enjoyable, at first, when she had approached him shyly, stammering her invitation, and he had enjoyed tasting the sweetness of her body, hearing the moans and cries that no man had ever heard before him, until a certain bumbling fool had intruded.

He quickly set the glass down and stood up. Perhaps a walk around the building would help his mood. Yes, stretching his legs would be better than staring moodily into a fire and getting drunk. And perhaps he could test their defenses against assassins a bit. Momentarily brightened by the thought, he quickly strode from his quarters and toward the front hall.

\------------------------------

Cordelia rubbed a hand across her forehead, frowning as the wind began picking up and blowing the first tiny crystals of ice against her face. She cursed the unruly weather of Ferelden, knowing that this much snow in Amaranthine was unusual, and that if she were home in Orlais, there would certainly be very little, if any, on the ground. The winter had come with a vengeance that year, and although some of the peasant folk around their castle had muttered superstitions about bad omens and weak harvests, she knew it was merely a turn. Next winter might have them seeing no snow at all, or more, and she grimaced at the thought of spending another winter in the frozen hills, patrolling to keep the various farmholds around their land safe. She shouted to the rest of the patrol that it was time to set up camp, before the storm truly hit, and they quickly scurried to begin their tasks, removing oilcloth and tent poles from their packs and starting a fire. She nodded in approval as she watched them.

When the land around Amaranthine had been granted the Grey Wardens, the Commander's first task had been to take stock. The castle was in good repair, luckily, Rendon Howe had at least taken care of his holding. They had found the servants quite willing to serve their new masters, and Cordelia was not surprised to learn, based on the stories she had heard from the Commander, that the previous Arl had been a difficult man to work for. The farms around the castle's immediate vicinity were all too happy to provide as much food as they could manage, although they were unused to serving a small army. Laeti had deftly organized a supply route from other nearby areas, making sure that her recruits would no go hungry, and Cordelia had admired her swift, decisive actions.

She had had her doubts about the so-called Hero of Ferelden, but after only a short time she had realized the elven woman was well equipped to turn this band of ragtag recruits into a branch of the Order that was worthy of their title of Grey Wardens. She shook her head and pulled her cloak tighter around her. Still, she would not be unhappy to return to Orlais once the Wardens had been re-established in Ferelden. At least there would be no night patrols in the snow there.

\------------------------------

Joran could feel his life seeping out of him slowly. He had been confident in his ability to reach Amaranthine when he'd first set off on the journey, but the necessity of giving Denerim a wide berth and the early onset of winter had made his journey much longer than he had expected. The pack of wolves he'd met that day had exhausted the last of his strength and healing poultices. He'd managed to kill them, eventually, but he was covered in gouges where they had bitten him, over and over, and he could only stumble on, hoping that he found a house or even just a fire, someone to help him before he collapsed and died in the snow. His feet were so cold, the wind tore at him through the tattered ribbons that the wolves had made of his clothes, but he must continue. As long as he was alive enough to feel the numbing cold of the wind, he could keep going. Had to keep going. Have to keep...

\------------------------------

Cordelia stiffened and motioned for the others to quiet. There was some noise, but she did not sense darkspawn. After a moment, she determined that it must have been a small animal, and relaxed. The recruits did likewise, returning to their quiet camp tasks.

Without any further warning, something came crashing through the undergrowth. Cordelia was on her feet with sword in hand before she had even realized she heard the sound, but it was no beast or darkspawn stumbling toward them.

The young man was an elf, his black hair half in a rough braid and half tumbled about his face, his clothes torn as though by wild animals, and blood flowing from half a dozen wounds on his arms and torso. He stopped at the sight of her sword, and held his hands up, swaying slightly. "N-not... an enemy. Was attacked... by wolves... Need... help..." His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell face forward into the snow.

The other recruits were staring stupidly at the prone form, and Cordelia rolled her eyes before shouting at them. "Well, pick 'im up! You two, go find some saplings to make a litter. You, apply a healing poultice so he doesn't die before we can get him back. The rest of you, break camp! We're heading back tonight, this young man obviously needs a healer."

The recruits went scurrying to follow her orders, and she shook her head again. There may be some hope for them, but they obviously still needed someone to tell them what to do. Well, she'd be happy to oblige for as long as they needed.

\------------------------------

It was no use. Zevran had walked from the upstairs chapel down to the dungeons below the castle, and he still felt restless and angry. He was pacing the front hall now, almost wishing someone or something would come to disturb him, but the whole castle was quiet. He had even tried to rouse one of the healers for a game of cards, but no one had answered when he knocked on the door. He had counted the stones in the floor of the front hall twice, and was contemplating a third try to get the right number when someone knocked on the front door. _Boom. Boom. Boom._ He hurried to draw back the bolt and swing the door open, certain that it must be urgent, or at least interesting.

\------------------------------

Joran felt warm hands lifting him and then a swaying feeling, as if he were suspended over a great empty space. He struggled, then, his pain-addled mind sure that he was being dropped into a vast chasm, as there was blackness all around him. Finally, his flailing tipped him over and cold wetness met his face. Hands were lifting him up now, and he tried to fight against them, but the cold had sapped what remained of his strength, and he stumbled forward and knew no more.

\------------------------------

A cold wind whipped him in the face and made him curse himself for leaving his cloak in his room. Cordelia and one of the recruits were supporting a young elven man between them, someone he had never seen before. As Zevran looked at him, his arm still outstretched from opening the door, the young man stumbled forward and collapsed in his arms.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laeti and Zevran argue, and Joran awakes and mistakes his surroundings with surprising results.

Laeti glanced over at the young man lying in the infirmary bed for the tenth time that morning, before returning her gaze to the practice yard outside. One of the recruits had practically broken down the door to her and Alistair's room in the wee hours of the morning to tell them what had happened, and she had rushed to dress and see to him. The healer mages had worked on him for several hours before they had been able to declare him out of danger, and she had waited another several restless hours for him to awake. Even Wiggles, her faithful mabari, had left his post at his pregnant mate's side to come nuzzle the young man's hand, before returning to the kennels. The sun had come up at some point, and Alistair had kissed her forehead and gone off to help train the recruits that weren't sleeping off the excitement of the previous night. Cordelia had lingered until Laeti sent her to bed, knowing that she, at least, would not be getting any more sleep.

The door opened, creaking softly, and Laeti looked over as Zevran came inside. She could see by the dark circles under his eyes that he had hardly slept either, but he still wore a smirk as he looked over at the unconscious man in the bed.

"To be honest, it's been a while since I've had a young man throw themselves at me in such a manner. He is remarkably attractive once he's not bleeding, however." He raised an eyebrow at the Warden Commander, as if daring her to comment.

"Don't even think about it, Zev. I want him in one piece, at least if he really was heading here on purpose and not lost in the woods." She frowned at the grin on the other elf's face. "Do I need to remind you what happened to the last recruit you toyed with?"

"My dearest Grey Warden, do I detect a hint of jealousy in your overbearing tone?" He slid into a chair on the opposite side of the bed, making sure to keep his voice low.

Laeti turned away, her jaw set in a tense line. "Hardly. I'm just worried about him, that's all. He's not Dalish, but he's got the muscles of a fighter, so he can't be a regular Alienage elf either. I want to know his story, and why he was seeking us out."

Joran groaned as he started coming to, feeling multiple sharp pains in his side as he tried to sit up. A hand was on his shoulder, gently but firmly keeping him down, and he opened his eyes, unable to focus them for a few moments. "Where... where am I?"

The silver haired woman standing by the window was hard to focus on, although he did notice the blurry outline of pointed ears, and silver hair tightly braided and coiled around her head. "You're in the castle of Amaranthine, base for the Grey Wardens of Ferelden."

He looked up at the face that belonged with the hand that was holding him down, and almost lost his breath. This face was much closer, and seemed in sharper focus than anything he had yet seen. He was lost in golden eyes for a moment, but something brought a cold feeling to the pit of his stomach. This one was an elf too, if the most beautiful elf he had ever seen.

"I... I'm in the servant's quarters, aren't I?" He frowned and looked down at his arms, heavily bandaged where he remembered the wolves tearing at him. "I guess that's the most fitting place for an injured elf. I had thought the Grey Wardens would be more accepting, I heard that she... That the Hero of Ferelden was an elf, Dalish, but maybe I heard wrong. Or maybe she doesn't like flatears like me." He took a breath that seemed to stick in his throat, missing the shocked looks that the two other elves exchanged over his head.

Laeti strode forward and leaned over until her face was mere inches from the injured man's own. "I am indeed Dalish, my unnamed friend. I am Laeti, Warden Commander of Ferelden, and the man so graciously keeping you from opening barely healed wounds is my third in command, Zevran Arainai. We are not servants to anyone but the Grey Wardens and those we protect." She drew back, allowing the man time to process this information, and also to study her more closely.

Joran gulped as he realized the woman standing in front of him was wearing ornate leather armor, carefully made and befitting a warrior of the highest order. He gave the other man a careful glance as well, avoiding his eyes, and noticed similar leather armor, if slightly more worn (or perhaps that was simply from being able to see it up close). He stammered as he looked back at the woman wearing a stern look on her face. "Forgive me, my lady. I thought... Well, I was raised in an Alienage, so waking up surrounded by elves, it seemed only natural... Forgive me." He blushed in embarrassment, and almost wished there was a deep, dark hole nearby for him to throw himself into.

Laeti smiled, then, the expression making her features appear softer, and he noticed for the first time how the tattoo on her forehead looked like interwoven branches. "Forgiven. Tell me, then, how an Alienage elf has the muscles and bearing of a fighter? And what is your name?"

"Joran Tabris, my lady. I am – or, was – from the Alienage in Denerim. My mother was a rogue, although I never did learn where she learned her skills. She taught me to fight from a young age. There was... an incident, and I had to leave Denerim quickly. Since then... I've done a lot of fighting." He looked away, not wishing to speak more, and Laeti nodded, satisfied with this.

"So, then, Joran Tabris, did you come hoping to join the Grey Wardens? Or were you simply lost in the woods?" She grinned when he looked at her. "We're not such a bad bunch, although you might regret falling in with us sooner or later."

Joran risked glancing at the handsome elf who was still holding him to the bed, and blushed again. "I... I was trying to get here. I want to become a Grey Warden. If you'll have me, that is."

Laeti waved away the self-effacing tone of his words. "First, no more 'my lady' speak. You aren't a servant. Call me 'Commander'. Second, we'll have to wait until you've healed fully to test your skill in battle, but until then, consider yourself a recruit. We'll be holding our first Joining ritual in a few weeks, and when we do, if I've deemed you ready, you can be part of that group." She nodded to Zevran, who released his hold on Joran and went to stand over by the door. "For now, focus on resting, and I'll see you once you're all healed up."

Joran nodded, his head already swimming with exhaustion, and he barely noticed the door close behind them as the darkness accepted him once more.

Out in the hallway, Zevran grinned at the Warden Commander. "What a sweet, innocent young man, wouldn't you say? The way he blushed when he looked at me was positively... delightful."

Laeti turned and gave him a look that wiped the grin off his face. "I don't want to hear anything about you going after that boy, Zev. I swear, he'll be the first elven recruit we've had, and if I find out you seduced him and broke his heart before he's gone through the Joining, I'm going to broom you so fast your head will be spinning."

Taken aback by her vehemence, Zevran still didn't miss a beat. "Does that mean it's all right if I seduce him and break his heart after the Joining, then?"

"I'm serious, Zevran. Don't. Touch. Him. He may have the muscles of an able fighter, but he's obviously an innocent in some ways, and I'd prefer he make it a year or two without throwing himself off the highest tower. Don't look, don't touch, don't even breathe in his general direction, or I'll have something to say about it." She closed the distance between them with one stride, and he felt her hot breath on his cheek as she glared at him. "Are we clear?"

"... As crystal." Zevran looked back at her with a glint in his eyes she hadn't recalled seeing in a long time, but she simply nodded and walked down the hallway, heading for the practice yards. After a moment, Zevran turned and headed back to his own room, feeling the need for a long, hot bath to relieve the tense feeling he'd gotten as she stared him down.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joran gets caught in the practice yard by Zevran, and Laeti and Alistair discuss her protectiveness toward the recruits.

Joran looked around for a moment before drawing his bow, his muscles aching as he used them for the first time in more than a week. The healers had pronounced him capable of light physical activity, and he had snuck out from under their watchful eye to stretch his muscles, even though the beaten earth of the practice yard still held half an inch of snow. Only a few shots, he told himself, as he aligned the arrow and the target with practiced eyes. It sank itself into the head of the practice dummy with a satisfying thunk, and he smiled and quickly put another arrow on string. It was comforting to know that his traveling and time spent recovering from the wolf attack hadn't robbed him of his skill with the bow. He let the second arrow loose, and felt a twinge in his arm where one of the wolves had torn the muscle halfway down. Lowering the bow, he rubbed the spot, frowning slightly.

"You seem to have a keen eye for shooting." Joran jumped half a foot and looked around guiltily at the tan-skinned man standing a few feet away, leaning nonchalantly against a weapons rack. Zevran grinned and headed toward him, and Joran felt his heart leap into his throat. "However, I seem to remember the healers telling you not to do anything strenuous for a few more days. Or perhaps you are simply too eager to become a Grey Warden, no?"

Joran blushed as he unstrung the longbow he'd snuck out of the practice armory. "I just, well, I was worried I might be getting rusty. That's all, really, I was going to stop after a couple shots." He looked evasive, but Zevran just smiled at him.

"You said you were from Denerim, yes? I wasn't aware Alienage elves were proficient in the use of hunting bows." Zevran settled into an open stance, his arms crossed loosely and his shoulders relaxed.

"Well, after I left the city, I actually joined a clan of Dalish elves for a while." Joran became much more animated on this subject, his eyes sparkling in a way that made Zevran smirk a bit harder. "They were very nice to me, although they didn't totally accept me. I mean, they didn't make me a hunter or anything, but they trained me on the bow. I knew a bit of knife fighting that my mother taught me, but it was just basic stuff. They definitely got me to a level I hadn't even approached before. My knife fighting is a bit better too, although I'm more comfortable with a bow in my hands now."

The former Crow nodded. "And I assume your mother taught you to pick locks as well? Or did you borrow that longbow from somewhere other than the armory?"

Joran blushed again, and Zevran found himself enjoying teasing the younger man. "Oh, well, I was going to put it back... I just wanted to practice, and that's what the armory is for, right?" His face fell as he glanced around again. "You're not going to tell anyone, are you?"

Zevran stroked his chin with one hand, as if considering. "Well... I suppose I could forgo mentioning it to the healers, but I think the Commander would be interested to know about your skills. Don't worry, she doesn't mind rogues. Why, I tried to kill her when we first met, and she still let me come along."

Joran's jaw dropped as he stared at the other man. "What?! You... You tried to kill _her?!_"

"Ah, it's a bit of a long story. And I see our dear Commander is approaching herself, so perhaps I could tell it to you another time, hmm?" Zevran bowed to Joran, then beat a hasty (if still dignified) retreat toward the armory, opposite the direction Laeti was approaching from.

"I see you're doing better, Joran. Did the healers clear you for combat already?" She looked him up and down as the younger man looked at his feet. "Hmm, somehow I doubt it. Tell me, did you pick the lock on the armory? I found it unlocked when I went to get my sparring daggers." She lifted a hand and shook her head as Joran opened his mouth to explain. "It's all right. Just don't do it again. If you want something, just ask me or one of the other senior Wardens. Now, if you're finished, I'd like you to come see something." She cast a glance in the direction Zevran had gone. "I hope Zev wasn't bothering you."

Joran shook his head quickly. "Oh, no, Commander! I was just telling him about the time I spent with a Dalish clan. They taught me how to shoot." He looked embarrassed as his eyes traveled to the tattoo on her forehead. "Of course, I'm sure I'm no match for you."

She smiled at him to ease his discomfort. "We'll have to see about arranging a shooting match once you've fully recovered, although to be honest, I was always better at dual wielding than the bow. Still, it would make for an interesting diversion. Now, come with me, please." She turned and headed off in the direction of the kennels, Joran scrambling to follow. Even though she was slightly shorter than him, she seemed to have a stride that covered two of his, or perhaps he was simply still not fully recovered from the wounds the wolves had inflicted on his legs.

He became curious when he noticed them approaching the kennels. He'd seen a few mabari in his life, but the elves in the Alienage didn't tend to have much to do with the burly war dogs. Alistair, the man Joran had come to know as the Commander's second in command, was kneeling in one of the pens, wearing light armor padding. He straightened as Laeti approached, and unhooked the gate to the pen to step outside. Laeti turned up her cheek just as he leaned down to kiss it, and Joran felt a stab of jealousy at the easy relationship they seemed to have. He shook the feeling off as Laeti turned to gesture him closer to the pen.

"This is my mabari, Wiggles." At the inquisitive look, Laeti reddened slightly. "Let's just say I didn't know much about mabari when I named him. He certainly can be wiggly when he wants too, and I mean that in both the best and worst possible way." The dog barked happily, as if to punctuate her words, and Joran remembered how smart mabari were supposed to be.

Laeti quickly continued. "At any rate, this is Tally, his mate. When we established this base, I decided that it would make sense for the Ferelden Grey Wardens to establish a working group of mabari. We're hoping to breed ones that are especially resistant to the taint, actually, and also to imprint them on specific wardens." She clapped one hand on Joran's shoulder. "You might be one of the lucky ones, they say that mabari choose their own masters once they reach adulthood. Tally's only a few months pregnant now, so it'll be at least a year before we can imprint any of the puppies, but I encourage all the recruits to familiarize themselves with the mabari in preparation. Once you're recovered, you'll be taking shifts to help the kennel master, like everyone else." She nodded to him. "At any rate, I think you'd best get back to the infirmary, before the healers come running to tell me you've wandered away. Just drop the bow back in the armory on your way, I left it unlocked." Joran flushed and nodded, then headed back in the direction they'd come.

Alistair put an arm around his beloved's shoulders as she looked after the young man. "He does seem to be doing well. Why are you so tense, love?"

She gritted her teeth. "I'm angry. I told Zev to leave him alone, but the first thing I see when I go looking for him is that Zevran's chatting him up. I told him I'd punish him if he messed with Joran. Apparently, he's still just as good about listening as he ever was."

The ex-Templar gently pulled her chin up with one hand, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Laeti. Zevran's not going to kill him. Joran is a man, he can handle himself just fine. You need to stop worrying about everything. Some things will work themselves out, regardless of what you do to stop them or help them along."

She looked after him again, a little sadness in her eyes. "I watched over him as he recovered. It's only been a week, I've been counting every day." Laeti sighed, letting her shoulders sag as if they had weights pulling on them. "You're right, I know. I just, I feel like I need to protect him. I know, that's not possible, but I want him to succeed, so badly. That isn't wrong, is it?"

He leaned down so his forehead rested against hers, their breath mingling into a warm fog rising in the cold air. "Of course not. I know why you're doing it, too. You're just like Tally, brooding over her pups. It's one of the most endearing things about you."

Laeti frowned, but she couldn't help raising an eyebrow at the comparison. "Alistair, I am not a mabari bitch."

"Of course you're not. You wouldn't be nearly so lovely if you were." He smiled as his lover began to laugh, then straightened up and took her hand. "Now, it's about time for lunch, isn't it? Shall we see what culinary disaster is waiting for us? I heard they let Charlise back into the kitchen."

"After what happened last time?" Laeti groaned at the memory, but allowed herself to be led in the direction of the mess hall, smiling despite herself.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Zevran lead a patrol of recruits out to find some vials of Darkspawn blood, and things go horribly wrong.

Laeti eyed the group of recruits with a stern face, but those who knew where to look could see a glint of pride in her golden eyes. "Today, you will finally take part in the first Joining Ritual since the Battle of Denerim. As a rite of passage, each Grey Warden recruit is required to go out and find their own vial of darkspawn blood. In times of peace, this is usually accomplished by a journey to the Deep Roads, but since we've still been dealing with roaming bands of 'spawn, I figured it shouldn't be too hard to find some on the surface. Indeed, a group of them was spotted not far from here yesterday afternoon." She stepped back and gestured to Alistair, who waved, clinking in his heavy armor. "Alistair will lead the patrol, as only a Grey Warden can sense the darkspawn. Zevran will also be accompanying you, so you have two seasoned fighters there to handle it if you get overwhelmed." She cast a critical eye over the group, then smiled. "You've come this far, and you'll go a lot further, I'm sure. Good luck." She nodded, studying each face carefully as they passed her.

Joran was last, and when she caught his eye, he smiled at her. He'd been cleared for fighting five days before, and had quickly proven himself equal to the task. His knife fighting was a bit sub par, as she'd managed to down him in two minutes, but he was better than her with the bow, and none of the other recruits had managed to match her level of proficiency with it yet, so she was pleased. Too many of them underestimated the importance of ranged combat, and she constantly had to pester them to remember their arrows and keep their crossbows well oiled for the next altercation they might face. As she watched him leave the compound, she felt a small twinge of fear. She pushed the feeling away and turned to head back to the mage's quarters, where the Orlesian Wardens were busy preparing the concoction that would become the Joining potion.

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It had been two hours, and the recruits were beginning to grumble. Joran wiped a hand across his forehead, glad that it was still a cool day, even if most of the snow had started melting and there were some tiny buds rising from the ground and showing on some of the trees. They were in one of the sparse forests that surrounded Amaranthine, more like orchards than forests, the trees comfortably far apart and not much underbrush to wade through. He glanced around and noticed a few of the recruits behind him chatting with Zevran easily. He quickly looked forward again, confused by the jab of jealousy he felt. Perhaps it was simply because they were humans. He'd never had a friendship with a human, not in the Alienage, and certainly not after he'd left Denerim. That must be it. _I'm jealous because they see him as an equal._ Still, there was an uneasy feeling in his chest, and he sped up to get closer to the beginning of the patrol.

Alistair was frowning. They had trailed the darkspawn raiding party for a good hour, and had yet to find them. He didn't feel any of them, either, the familiar pricking at the back of his neck was definitely absent. He turned to scan the horizon, cursing the trees that blocked his view, and noticed Joran coming up behind him. He clapped a gauntleted hand on the young elf's shoulder, almost making his knees buckle. "Well, how do you like your second patrol so far? I hope it isn't too boring, I forgot to engage the string quartet. Ah well, there's always next time." He grinned down at Joran, and was rewarded by a hesitant smile in return.

Joran cleared his throat, rubbing his shoulder to make sure it wasn't too badly bruised. "Actually, I was just wondering... How much do you know about Zevran?"

Alistair blinked, his face carefully blank. "Zevran? Ah, well, he joined our ragtag band of adventurers when we were trying to figure out how to defeat the Blight. I don't know that much about him except that he was an assassin. Botched the job on me and Laeti, and begged us to let him come along so they wouldn't come kill him for failing."

Joran looked back at the blonde man, who just happened to be laughing at something one of the recruits had said. "... Somehow I don't see him begging for anything."

The ex-Templar shrugged and frowned. "Begging, conniving, all a bit the same to me. Anyway, I was pretty suspicious of him at first, but he turned out to be a pretty okay guy. Decent fighter too, or else Laeti wouldn't have let him stick around. I dunno, she knows him a lot better than me, you should ask her when we get back from this."

The dark-haired elf nodded. "Um... thanks. I mean, for talking to me. Most sh- I mean, most humans aren't so welcoming."

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "None of the recruits have said anything to you, have they? Because Laeti isn't exactly keen on that kind of behavior, for obvious reasons."

Joran quickly shook his head. "No! No, I mean, everyone's been nice to me... I just... Well, I guess I don't make friends easily. So... thanks." He smiled up at the other man, and Alistair couldn't help smiling back.

"No prob – GET DOWN!" He shoved Joran so hard he fell backward, and the wicked arrow that would've buried itself in his back bounced harmlessly off the heavy armor Alistair wore. The red-haired man felt the familiar prickle at the back of his neck and shouted at the recruits, who already saw something was off. One of them went down before anything could be done, an arrow through his eye, but the rest were already moving.

A hurlock roared as it bore down on the patrol leader, and Alistair brought his shield up to deflect the blow, shoving his longsword up under it to stab the hurlock through its torso. He turned his head to shout orders and saw Zevran was already directing some of the others to the best vantage points. The trees were good cover for them, but the darkspawn were using it to their advantage as well.

Joran had already run up a nearby ridge and drawn his bow when Alistair finally saw him, and his hands were steady as he rained arrows down on the enemy. Alistair grinned, turned his attention back to the five hurlocks bearing down on him, and had a brief thought wondering where they'd all come from before his mind was engaged in battle.

Zevran was sneaking behind the hurlock emissary when he noticed a group of them breaking off from the recruits, who were fighting them off handily. He was puzzled for only a moment when he realized they were heading up the ridge. Led by a genlock assassin, they were sneaking up on Joran, who had already felled five of them and was continuing to rain pointy death down like an elven god of war. He was so focused on his shooting that he didn't even notice them, and Zevran forgot where he was as he shouted a warning. The emissary turned, seeing him then and raising its staff.

Just as Zevran was fighting off the darkspawn magic user, Alistair had turned and saw the same thing. He shouted at the recruits to go help their comrade, but his words were lost in a mindless roar as the ogre stomped onto the battlefield. He grimaced and turned to face the new foe, hoping someone else went to Joran's aid before he was overcome.

It wasn't until he felt the hot breath on his neck that Joran turned and saw the group that had come up behind them. Dropping his longbow, he grabbed for his knives, but only got one out before the assassin was stabbing at him. He jumped back, and nearly lost his footing at the edge of the ridge. He set his mouth in a grim line as he realized he was trapped, and took a deep breath. Well, if he was to die here, he'd take as many as he could with him. He screamed a wordless battle cry and dashed into the throng, choking when he hit a jugular and blood sprayed across his face and mouth. He swallowed, trying to clear his mouth of the foul taste, but his head was already starting to spin, and as they continued to stab at him and jeer, he went down.

It didn't take long for the other recruits to come to his aid, but Joran had already gone down, and Alistair felt like something was squeezing his chest as he looked down at the blood-covered man. Zevran was already running his hands across Joran's body to assess the damage, and stood quickly. "He isn't too badly hurt, most of the blood is not his. We must return at once, however, or I don't think his chances are good."

Alistair nodded and turned to the recruits. "Gather your vials of blood quickly, and then let's get him back to base. Maker willing, we'll only have lost one recruit today."

The others went about their business quickly as Alistair knelt next to the wounded young man, praying harder than he had in years that he would only make this mistake once.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laeti is forced to make a difficult decision, Zevran is put in an uncomfortable position, and Alistair feels guilty about Joran's state.

Laeti wondered how many times she would have to stand by the infirmary window while her recruits languished under wounds. Alistair had reported what happened after Joran had been brought in, but then he had retreated, and she had read in the tense lines of his face the guilt he felt, not just at Joran's state but the death of Kareden. She was glad they'd only lost one so far, but the Joining was still to come. First, though, she had to decide what to do with Joran.

Zevran was sitting in the same chair as he'd occupied two weeks before, when Joran had first arrived, but his face was grim. The ever-present smirk was gone, replaced by what Laeti could only call anxiety, and she was surprised that Zev could be so careless as to let his feelings show on his face.

Both of them stiffened as Claudius, the healer, walked back into the room. He was one of the Wardens from Orlais, and had been helping finish the Joining potion when the patrol had returned. One of the apprentice healers had gotten Joran's wounds (which turned out to be relatively minor) all cleaned and healed up, but Laeti had sent for Claudius just the same.

Without a word, the dark-skinned man walked over to the bed and closed his eyes for a moment, one hand suspended in the air above Joran's body. He dropped his hand quickly, as if burned, and turned to Laeti. "I'm afraid he's been tainted, Commander. There's nothing I can do, except perhaps slow its progress. It is likely he will succumb, unless..." He made a face, the suggestion too distasteful for him to voice.

"Spit it out, Claudius." Laeti felt a sinking in her stomach, and she knew what the healer was going to say, what she had heard so long ago.

"... Unless we force the Joining on him now, before the taint has a chance to spread." The healer shook his head. "It would be a shameful thing to do, as we always wish them to drink the blood willingly, but it may be the only way to save him. Without it, he will surely die of the taint within a few days."

Laeti nodded. "Then go fetch the potion, Claudius. He came to us willingly, he trained with us, and he told me several times that all he wanted was to be a Warden. I don't think he would shy from it now, if he was awake to do so."

The healer nodded, his face blank, and left the room again. Zevran watched his back, frowning, then turned to the elven woman. "So he dies in his sleep, then?"

Laeti whirled, her teeth bared. "What would you have me do?! Either he dies from the taint, or he might live from it. At least if he survives the Joining, he'll live."

"And how do you expect him to survive, in his state?" Zevran raised an eyebrow, a frown still firmly set on his face, as he stood and moved closer to the bed.

"Don't make me the bad guy here, Zev. Besides, _I_ survived. If I did, he can too." She rubbed her forehead, preparing to say more, but the door opened again, and Claudius walked in, holding the small bottle that held the potion.

He handed it to her. "The vial of fresh blood has been added, so you had best give it to him now." Without another word, he turned and snapped the door shut behind him, showing in his silence the disapproval he dared not voice to her face. Laeti gritted her teeth, but moved over to the bed.

As she stood over him, trying to decide how best to accomplish her task, Joran's eyes fluttered, and she nearly dropped the bottle. "Papa?" His eyes were unfocused as he looked around, trying to see what wasn't there. "Papa, I feel sick... Please, Papa, help me..."

Laeti was frozen, but Zevran hesitated only a moment before stroking Joran's forehead. "Shh. It is all right. You will get well soon, Joran."

Joran smiled, his eyes seeming to fix on a point somewhere around Zevran's left ear. "Papa, will you tell me a story? I feel so sick..."

Laeti leaned over and hissed in his ear. "Give it to him. Tell him it's medicine."

Zevran shook his head, his mouth set in an obstinate line, but Laeti forced the bottle into his hand and gave him a look that warned of dire consequences if he disobeyed. Frowning even harder, he leaned over and spoke to the young man again.

"Joran, I'm going to give you some medicine that will make you feel better." Zevran felt ill at the lie, knowing that it could very well kill the young man, but continued on, knowing if he stopped now, things would be much worse. "Will you take it?"

Joran nodded, a pitiful frown on his face, the face of a child who has to do something they dislike. "Yes, Papa."

"All right, here it comes." Zevran unstopped the bottle with shaking fingers, then poured it down Joran's throat, hating himself as he did so.

Joran swallowed once, then a terrible scream ripped from his throat, an animal sound of pain and anger. Zevran winced and stumbled back, his ears ringing.

Laeti studied the young man and saw that his breathing was labored, but at least it continued. After another moment or so, she nodded. "I think he's going to get through it. It might take a while for him to wake up, but unfortunately I have other things to attend to, such as informing the other recruits their Joining is delayed." She gave Zevran a sharp look. "You can watch over him and make sure nothing goes wrong."

The look the blonde man gave her was so full of venom she almost felt taken aback, but she knew her actions deserved such a reaction. She shook her head and left the room without looking back.

Alistair caught her as she turned the corner, his eyes filled with concern. "What happened? I saw Claudius go in with the potion. Is he...?"

Laeti shook her head. "He lives. As a Grey Warden, hopefully. It might be too soon to tell, but I think... I think he'll be..." She couldn't continue, her face falling into a look of self-loathing as tears started in her eyes. "I made Zev do it. I couldn't... He was so helpless, I just felt so evil! I had to, though, he would've died without it!"

Alistair pulled her close as she sobbed, stroking her hair and murmuring meaningless comfort until she managed to calm down. "You did what you had to, love. We all do."

She looked up at him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry. Here I am being stupid about something that was necessary and I haven't even asked you how you're holding up?" She reached one hand up to stroke his cheek, and the gentle look in her eyes made it so much harder for him to keep up the strong front.

"I... it was my fault. I mean, Karedan got hit by an arrow, and I wasn't fast enough to warn him. I should've seen what was happening to Joran. I should've been paying more attention. I never got the hang of directing battles, like you can. And there were so many of them, at least twenty, I was only expecting a small group, I guess I just wasn't prepared..." His face was a mask of misery, and he couldn't continue. "This is why I always let you lead. Whenever I do, someone gets hurt, someone gets killed. If it had been up to me, the Blight probably never would've been defeated."

Laeti pinched Alistair's cheek hard enough to make him exclaim. "Stop that! You are a fine leader, Alistair, and you will not blame yourself like an idiot. Karedan and Joran both went out knowing the risks, so did all of them. Being a Grey Warden isn't just about camaraderie and fellowship and protecting farmholds. You know that as well as I do, and I will NOT let you beat yourself up for something that wasn't your fault." She pulled his head down so that their foreheads were touching. "That's an order."

Alistair was about to protest, but the look in her eyes would brook no argument, and he nodded, allowing a small smile to appear on his face. "Yes, Commander."

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Zevran sat next to the bed, his chin resting in his hand, trying to count the strands of hair that were splayed over the pillow. Normally Joran's hair was pulled back in a tight braid, but the healer had loosened it (something about "vital energies") and most of it had pulled free in his earlier movements. It was as black as night and smooth as silk, and Zevran felt another stab of guilt as he looked at the younger man's face.

Joran stirred, and Zevran sat bolt upright, preparing to go find someone, but his eyelids only fluttered, and then he sighed and was silent again. Zevran settled back into his resting position, and felt his own eyelids droop. It had been so long since he'd had to stay up all night, watching a mark, that he'd let that part of his training slip. He stood up, but stopped as he felt a hand on his arm.

Joran's eyes were still closed, but he held onto Zevran and began to speak. "Mama. Mama, are you there? I'm so cold..."

Zevran shook his head. "I'm not your mother. Let me go."

Joran's face fell into the most awful look of despair that Zevran felt his heart twist inside him. "Mama? I feel so bad... Please, Mama..." He pulled on the blonde man's arm, and Zevran leaned over him, feeling his breath as it brushed against his cheek.

"What do you want, Joran?" The question was meant to be kind, but Zevran heard something else in his tone, something that made him a little ashamed.

Without warning, he found himself pulled onto the bed, and he struggled for a moment before realizing that Joran was curling up against him, looking for all the world like a kitten with its mother. He sighed, defeated, and pulled the covers up to tuck them both in. "You're lucky I'm too kind to take advantage of you, my friend, for you were the one who pulled me into your bed." He wrapped his arms around the dark-haired man and inhaled his scent deeply as he drifted off to sleep.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joran awakens, Laeti and Zevran have a forceful discussion, and The Joining gets underway.

Laeti had hardly slept, even nestled in Alistair's arms, and she was anxious to check on Joran. She swung open the door to the infirmary room, catching it deftly before it could bang on the wall. Once she took in the sight in front of her, she forgot all about being quiet.

"ZEVRAN ARAINAI, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"

The blonde man shot out from under the covers and braced himself against the wall as she stalked toward him. "Laeti! It isn't what you... I mean I didn't... I'm innocent!"

"Oh, you're tangled up in bed with him, and you expect me to believe it was INNOCENT?!" She grabbed the front of his loose tunic with one fist and glared at him so hard he was surprised he didn't burst into flames.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, regaining some composure in the process. "I assure you, Commander, that it was entirely innocent." He glanced over at the bed. "He was... having a bad dream."

As if on cue, Joran opened his eyes and sat up, rubbing his forehead with one hand. "Oww... Did anyone get the name of the ogre who stomped on me?"

Laeti immediately dropped the fistful of tunic she had and turned to speak to him. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you awake. Do you remember what happened?"

Joran shook his head. "I remember the battle, but it's all a bit blurry. There were darkspawn everywhere, and something tasted foul, and then there was blackness, and strange dreams..." He looked up quickly. "Did I... am I tainted?"

Laeti smiled. "Not any more than I am. Grey Wardens have to drink darkspawn blood and conquer the taint inside it to become as we are." Her face fell and she looked away, shame welling up at what she'd done. "I... The Joining is meant to be done willingly. But you were tainted from the battle, and we had no choice but to give you the blood, or you certainly would have died."

"So... I'm a Grey Warden now?" The look on his face wasn't like anything Laeti remembered feeling after her Joining, but then it had been under much different circumstances. Still, his wide grin took her aback a bit.

"Yes, in every way that counts. The rest of the recruits are waiting to do their own Joining today, I just wanted to make sure you were all right before I went ahead with it. I'd like you to come, if you're feeling all right." She hesitated, then blurted out what she really wanted to say. "So... you're not angry?"

Joran looked blank. "Why would I be? I've been wanting to become a Grey Warden for months now. Does it matter so much how it's done? You said it was necessary."

Laeti opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again, realizing for the first time how different his life had been from hers. She had been projecting her upbringing on him, but he was not Dalish. She had rebelled so hard against Duncan at first because it had not been a choice, Warden or death, but he was not Dalish. He had been dealing with things being forced on him all his life. She felt sadness, but also relief. Hopefully, from this point on, he would begin to learn something of true freedom, but for now she was simply glad he didn't see what a terrible thing she'd done.

After gathering her thoughts, Laeti nodded. "... You're right. Anyway, I'd still like you to come to the Joining, if you're well enough. The ritual is important. It's a way to be closer to the others. You never forget your Joining."

"Oh yes, I think I'll be fine." He smiled up at her again, and Laeti couldn't help smiling in return.

"Good, then I'll see you in twenty minutes, down in the Great Hall. Zev, if you'll just come with me, I need your assistance." She grabbed the blonde elf's arm and began dragging him out the door.

Joran cast a puzzled look after them, but shrugged and climbed out of the bed, heading for the small chest that he knew would contain his clothes.

\------------------------------

Out in the hallway, Laeti was preparing to give Zevran a piece of her mind again, when the former Crow suddenly reversed her grip and twisted her arm up behind her. She winced, but didn't cry out, even though the pain was sudden and sharp. "Zev, what the hell – "

He murmured in her ear, and she recognized a tone she hadn't heard in a long time. "I will explain this to you once, my dear Warden, and then I will expect the subject to be closed. I did not molest your puppy, nor do I intend to, at least not without his express consent. The fact that you would expect it of me is... an unwelcome revelation. The truth is that he was dreaming, it looked bad, he called out for comfort, and I complied. Nothing more, nothing less." He dropped her arm then, and she swung around, her eyes wide as she rubbed her bruised wrist.

"... You've changed, Zev. I used to trust you with everything, but recently you've been more volatile than I'm comfortable with. I'm not the only one who's been noticing, either." Without any warning, she shoved him up against the opposite wall, one arm up against his neck. "That was your one free shot. Next time you try something like that, I won't just react with my fists." She backed up, her face twisted into a look of distaste and unhappiness. "... Why can't we go back to being friends?"

Zevran stood there, his hands loose at his sides, and shook his head. "You know why. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to do, _Commander._" He spat out the last word almost like a curse, and Laeti shook her head in defeat as he stalked off down the hall.

\------------------------------

Laeti looked around at the group of people arranged in a loose semi circle in front of her. She took a deep breath, her face stern. "You are all here because you have proven yourselves, time and again, to be some of the best that Ferelden has to offer. I would be lying if I did not tell you how proud of you I am." She walked over to the small table, on which sat the ritual chalice. The words she remembered so well came easily to her lips, and she felt an echo of Duncan in her head as she spoke.

"The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when the world stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was, that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood, and mastered their taint."

Some of the recruits shifted uneasily, but no one spoke, so she continued. "This is the source of our power, and our victory. Those of us who go through this ritual become immune to the taint. It is how we sense the darkspawn, and how we are able to slay an Archdemon." She looked around the small group again, memorizing their faces, feeling the next words stick in her throat. "Not all who drink the tainted blood survive the ritual. Those of us who do are forever changed. This is why it is a secret. Once you have left this chamber, you will not be allowed to tell any of the other recruits what you experienced here. Not that I expect you'll want to."

She nodded to Alistair, who was standing on the other side of the table. He stepped forward, commanding their attention. "We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these have been said since the first." He paused, closing his eyes for a moment to recall the words he had spoken so long ago, in another lifetime, as another person.

"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us, in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us, as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten; and that one day, we shall join you."

Laeti shook her head clear of the memories that had descended upon her, so strong, even after years and an entire journey between them. She lifted the chalice and called forth the first recruit, and the Joining began.

Joran stood slightly apart from the other recruits as they drank from the chalice. He thought, for a moment, that they would resent him, that the danger had passed and he was already a Warden, but a few of them had cast smiles at him when he walked in behind them, and there was a shared sentiment of barely suppressed fear that he found himself taking part it. It wasn't until the fourth person that things went wrong, and he watched with the others in mingled horror as Marek convulsed briefly, then collapsed, utterly still. He looked up and saw tears on Laeti's face, but she could only continue, and the next recruit only hesitated a moment before throwing her head back and gulping the vile mixture quickly, as if to escape. Joran glanced around, realizing how alone they were in that great, empty hall, only the twelve recruits, the Commander and Second, and it took him a moment to notice Zevran in the shadows near the door. As sun-kissed as the assassin was, he blended well into shadows, and Joran wondered why he was there, if not to witness the ritual. His blood turned cold when he realized that the blonde elf was there in case anyone tried to run, and he quickly turned his eyes forward again, a mixture of fear and confusion churning inside him.

Soon, it was over. Two were dead, and the rest were already beginning to come to when Laeti set down the chalice. "It is finished. Welcome, brothers and sisters, to the Grey Wardens." She and Alistair moved forward to help the nine who had survived up. "Now, I expect you'll all want to eat a horse and sleep for a day, so consider your other duties suspended until tomorrow morning. We will talk more then."

Joran was about to step forward, but realized by the look on Laeti's face that she didn't want to talk right now, so he turned and followed the rest of the recruits out the main doors, blushing and hurrying past Zevran as he did so.

Zevran approached the two Wardens, who were looking down at the dead recruits with sadness. "Shall I go make arrangements, then? I am assuming you want them disposed of."

Laeti's face twisted, but she sighed and let her features relax. "Go find some of the Orlesians and burn them. Scatter their ashes in the orchard, at least in death they can sustain us."

The assassin opened his mouth as if to respond, but thought better of it and nodded, turning to find the help he would need.

Laeti looked at Alistair then, and saw grief and worry intermingled on his handsome face. "I think I finally understand how Duncan must have felt. Or some of it, anyhow. It's a terrible choice, isn't it? Making them do something they can't possibly understand the implications of."

The ex-Templar nodded. "It is. And you handled it very well." His face broke into a wry grin. "Anyway, you're a lot prettier than Duncan ever was."

Laeti smirked and tilted her head to the side. "And what does it say about you, that you're sleeping with his replacement?"

Alistair winced, but didn't stop grinning. "Ouch! That apparently, I like my women with claws." He glanced down at the bodies nearby and the smile disappeared. "... Let's go. There's too much death here right now."

Laeti nodded and followed as Alistair led the way, his golden armor clinking softly as he moved, sparing only one last backward glance at the two recruits she had lost that day.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laeti gathers the new Wardens to explain exactly how much their lives have changed, and Joran is shocked to learn of the dark secret that defeated the Archdemon.

It was a brilliant morning, and Laeti couldn't help lingering at the window for a moment, a smile playing across her lips as she watched the recruits down in the practice yard going through their morning practice bouts under the watchful eye of the Orlesian wardens. The trees in the castle garden were already growing leaves again, and some of the flowers were putting up green shoots. It felt fitting, somehow, that the first new Grey Wardens would be initiated in the spring. She had always been told it was the best time for new beginnings, new life, and she felt homesick for her clan for a brief moment, before shaking herself from the feeling and turning to walk back to her desk.

Zevran was standing in the corner, making notes in the ledger that usually stayed in her bottom desk drawer. He had sort of taken on the role of secretary by default, although some of the Orlesians had objected initially to his learning the ciphers the Wardens used, but he was so much better at that kind of thing than she could ever be, and she had told the Orlesians she trusted him with her life, as well as the secrets of the order. There had been some talk of making him a Warden, but she had put a stop to that as well. Not that she thought Zev would object, but she did not want to doom her friend to a shortened life. Besides, she wasn't entirely sure he would stay forever. Oh, she trusted him not to betray any secrets once he left, but he had never struck her as the kind of person to settle for very long in one place, especially with how unhappy he had seemed to be in the past few months. At any rate, right now he was changing the status of the recruits in the ledger, the master tome of Warden placement and recruiting records she had found among Riordan's things after the battle, and the Orlesians had shown her and Zevran how to decipher them and make notes or changes.

She opened her mouth, preparing to say something, when her door was opened. She nodded as the group of newly made Wardens shuffled in, all looking slightly worse for wear, but at least still alive. Alistair followed up behind, and nodded to her as he closed the door. He was only wearing practice leathers today, and she knew he would be going down to the kennels to check on the mabari once she had finished her business.

She pulled the grand carved chair out from her desk and sat down, looking around at the recruits. "Well, and here you all are again. I'm relieved to see you all looking a bit less shaken than yesterday."

One of the recruits, a tall man she remembered after a moment was named Laran, blurted out. "What happened to Marek and Tory?"

Laeti looked down at the desk, and the silence in the room was stifling. "They were given a funeral pyre, as was their right. Personally I would have wished to bury them, as the fashion is among the Dalish, but the taint that killed them could have contaminated the grounds. That's why we always burn darkspawn bodies after battles." She looked up, sharpness in her eyes, but also sadness. "I regret their deaths, make no mistake of that, but you all were warned. I tried to disabuse you of any romantic notions of the Wardens from the moment you came here. It is a dangerous and sometimes thankless job, and there are great risks." She stood up, striding around the desk to stand closer to the small group, noting Joran in the back, not far from where Zevran was still working with the ledger. "That's part of why I wanted to see you today. The Joining is only the first step to becoming a Grey Warden. There are other things that you have to learn." She held up one hand and ticked off each item with her fingers as she listed them. "First, we can sense the darkspawn, but they can also sense us. This is why we must send out patrols so often to protect the farmholds, because they will try to attack us as surely as we attack them. Second, the taint, though ostensibly mastered, will kill us, and sooner than an average lifespan. After our Joining, we have perhaps 30 years, on the outside. That is part of why we must always be recruiting, as our generations are so much shorter than those of regular people. Third, when you entered this order, you forfeited all right to family titles and political claims. The Grey Wardens must remain neutral in every subject save defeating the Blight. Fourth, and this is the most important... A Grey Warden is required to destroy the Archdemon." She felt her shoulders tense as she approached the subject, and saw Alistair looking at his feet, not quite willing to meet her eye. She squared her jaw and continued. "This is something that they don't tend to tell you right away, but considering the circumstances behind my own experiences with the last Blight, I think it's something that must be reinforced early on. You all understand that the Archdemons are tainted Old Gods, correct? We're not entirely sure why or how this works, but when an average person attempts to slay an Archdemon, the soul of that Old God simply migrates to the nearest, most powerful darkspawn. In that way, they're basically immortal." She swallowed, seeing the dawning looks of horror on the recruits faces as they thought of the implications, and forced herself to continue. "A Grey Warden is necessary because when we destroy the Archdemon, its soul instead enters our body. The darkspawn are basically empty vessels, but we have souls, and so the Old God's soul and the soul of the Grey Warden are destroyed simultaneously."

The eruption of questions was instantaneous, and Laeti held up one hand to quell them. "I know. If this is true, you want to know how I and Alistair both survived." She turned her back then, walking back to her desk, and the recruits stared at her back as she placed both hands on the table. "When I first met with the Orlesian Wardens and explained what happened to them, they wished for me to keep this a secret, but I refused. The burden of my decision may very well come back to haunt future Wardens, and so I think it best if you know now."

She turned and stared at them, her face blank, her eyes unsettling. "On the eve of the final battle, one of my companions, a powerful apostate named Morrigan, gave me the choice to perform a dark ritual. It involved blood magic, and I will not explain the details, but it would allow her to contain the Old God's soul in the body of a child, without it being destroyed, and it would allow Alistair and I to remain alive."

If she had thought the earlier silence was awful, she felt the weight of their eyes like stones upon her. She could feel the muscles in her back protesting at the tension, but she couldn't do anything.

To her surprise, it was Joran who spoke first. "With all due respect, Commander, wasn't that the coward's way out?" The other recruits stared at his audacity, and even Zevran looked up, surprised.

Laeti felt a stab at the look of utter disdain he was giving her, but she shook her head. "To be honest, I have wondered myself. But I did what I believed what was best, and though I do not think I need to justify my choice, I will tell you why. For one, I was afraid that we would not make it to the final confrontation. You were not at the Battle of Denerim, Joran. We almost died half a dozen times just getting to the top of Fort Drakon. Wynne fell in that final battle, her wounds so great I did not know if she would live. What I did, I did to ensure victory. With that ritual, anyone could kill the Archdemon and end the Blight. Only Alistair and I were left in all of Ferelden, after Riordan's gambit failed."

Joran still protested, heat rising into his face. "But it would have been better to die defeating the Archdemon than let an Old God roam around! Do you even know what this Morrigan woman did with it? It's... It's dishonorable!"

She gritted her teeth. "I do not expect you to understand. You were not there, and you were not faced with the choices I was. You very well might have done what I did, in my place, or perhaps not. But you don't get to tell me what I did was wrong. There was no one else to make the choice, and so I made it, for good or ill. I am only informing you of this because I knew you would want to know how both I and Alistair survived after Riordan fell."

Joran was opening his mouth to say more, but she shook her head. "Enough. I did not bring you here to debate the past. You are all here because you survived, and for good or ill, you are now Grey Wardens. The first order of business is to assign you your new posts. You'll still be expected to show up for training sessions, we must all be prepared for fighting at any time, but from now on you all have new duties." She ticked off names as she worked her way down the list. A few of them were assigned to study Templar abilities under Alistair, who had reluctantly agreed to train a few of the better recruits in them, specifically the ones that focused on suppressing magic and cleansing. Most of the rest were assigned to various Orlesian wardens, depending on their specialties. Once she was done, she dismissed them.

Joran was still there, looking uncertain. "Excuse me, Commander, you didn't assign me to anyone..." His face fell. "I didn't mean to speak out of turn. I... I guess I let my mouth get away from me sometimes. Honestly, it always got me in trouble in the Alienage. You would think I'd learn better."

Laeti shook her head. "I'm not angry with you, Joran. I simply decided that perhaps you could benefit from slightly different circumstances than the other recruits. I don't mean to cause offense, but you've only been here a few weeks, and most of them have been training here for the last two years. Mostly, I wish to improve your skills so that we don't ever have to see your unconscious body dragged in after a patrol again. The bow is a fine weapon, but you need to improve your other weapon abilities." She raised an eyebrow and he thought he saw a glint of amusement hiding behind the stern look in her eyes. "I also noticed that you're educated, and you have neat handwriting."

Joran looked confused. "When did you...?"

The Warden Commander waved her hand dismissively. "I have my ways. At any rate, I was thinking you could train under Zevran. He's a fine dual wielder, the best we have, and he's also my secretary, and could use an assistant."

Zevran, who had gone back to his ledger once the excitement was over, looked up quickly, a look of mingled surprise and anger on his face. "Shouldn't I be consulted about such changes? I do not recall saying I needed an assistant. Surely someone else could use Joran's help."

She smirked back at him. "But I thought you said you wanted to get to know him better? Anyway, it's decided. You'll help him get his melee fighting up to par, and in the meantime he'll help you with all those requisition orders. Maybe then you won't need to pester me so often."

The dark-haired elf glanced over at Zevran and blushed. "I... I don't want to impose."

The tan-skinned man smiled smoothly. "Of course not, my dear young man. I'm sure I can find something for you to do."

Laeti nodded. "All right then, all settled. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like a private word with my Second before I head off to my other duties."

Zevran made a mocking bow and placed the ledger on one of the bookshelves before leading Joran out of the room. As the door was shutting, Laeti noticed a tan hand landing on the younger man's shoulder and rolled her eyes.

Alistair came forward then, pulling her against him, almost possessively. "I know that was difficult for you. You didn't need to downplay my involvement, you know, I'm just as much to blame as you are for whatever happens with Morrigan's demonic Old God child."

Laeti shook her head gently as she snuggled into his chest. "No. I was the one who made the choice, and convinced you to go through with it. I'm just lucky you forgave me afterward."

He laughed, and she looked up, surprised. "Laeti, if the worst thing you ever make me do is have sex with Morrigan, we'll both be the luckiest Grey Wardens in the history of Thedas." His face was serious again. "I forgave you years ago, beloved. But I still deserve part of the blame. I'd like to believe Morrigan doesn't really intend any great evil, but we may never know. We could be dead by the time that whole mess lands in anyone's lap."

She nodded and sighed. "That's why I have to tell them, and make sure it's passed on. Even if there isn't another Blight for centuries, this is something that could potentially be a problem much sooner, and they deserve to know." She pushed him away, gently. "Now, we both have duties to attend to." She kissed him quickly. "I know there are at least fifteen letters I have to personally attend to, so don't be surprised if I don't go down to see Wiggles and Tally until after lunch. We'll talk more tonight."

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran and Joran start off the day by sparring, and end it with a more interesting proposition.

Zevran smirked again as he circled with his opposite, bent in the low crouch he used for close and dirty fights. The dagger in his hand was wickedly curved, and not blunted as practice daggers usually were.

Joran felt himself frowning as he concentrated on the blades, all four of them, trying to read what the other man's next move would be, but suddenly there was a blur of steel and he was staring up at Zevran from flat on his back for the third time in twenty minutes.

Zevran leaned down, his knife held an inch away from Joran's throat. "You're focusing too much on your knife hand. Fighting with a sword is different from fighting with a knife, you know. I suppose they didn't let you have swords in the Alienage, did they?"

He squirmed, trying to dislodge the man sitting on his chest, but Zevran wouldn't budge. "Of course not. 'Elves found with swords will die upon them.' But that didn't stop my mother from hiding knives from the guards." He looked away. "... That's probably why they killed her, in the end."

The blonde elf felt a twinge of guilt, and he quickly stood and helped Joran up. "At any rate, you need to brush up on your sword fighting, starting with form." He sheathed his weapons, then moved so he was behind Joran, first kneeling down to correct the young man's stance.

He couldn't help blushing when he felt Zevran's hands sliding down his leg, repositioning them for a better attack. He bit his lip and tried to concentrate on the feel of the blades in his hands, his grip tightening until his knuckles whitened.

Zevran stood up again and wrapped one arm around Joran's chest, causing the breath to hitch in his throat. With the other hand he took the dark-haired elf's sword arm and moved it up and down a few times. "Loosen up your arm, tension is your worst enemy on the battlefield." Joran tried to relax and almost dropped the sword.

"I'm sorry, am I making you... nervous?" The sun-kissed man was whispering in his ear, and Joran blushed harder as he turned his head away.

"N-no. I'm just, not used to this kind of... instruction." He took a deep breath to steady himself, then fixed his arm. "Better?"

The blonde-haired elf had to restrain himself from nipping that delightfully blushing ear so close to his lips, but he merely chuckled and continued. "Much. The trick to dual wielding is remembering that you do not have a shield, like a one-handed fighter. You must be swift and deadly, both in attacking and defending. Use every single opening, or you may be overwhelmed, and then all is lost."

Joran's head was spinning as the other man let go of him, and he stammered, "Yes, that would be... bad."

Zevran raised an eyebrow, that sly smirk still on his face. "I believe you've had enough instruction for today. Go clean up and meet me in my office, we'll go over some of your new duties as my assistant."

Joran nodded, still red from embarrassment and exertion, and Zevran couldn't help smirking a bit harder as he watched the younger man turn and walk away.

\---------------------------

"First, you need to alphabetize these forms by the family name of the merchants who organize the caravans. Then by the supplies they bring, and then cross-index by how often they come. They also need to be triple signed by myself, Laeti and Alistair, and don't forget to write two copies out, one for the outgoing and one for us to keep." Zevran paused in his pacing and glanced over at the young man, who was nodding as he tried to re-shelve a book above his head. The tanned elf grinned and deliberately dropped the book he had been holding as he paced on the floor next to Joran's feet. "Whoops. Do you mind?"

Joran finally shoved the first book into place and bent over to pick up the second, oblivious to the grin on Zevran's face as he did so. "And where does this one go? Hmm, 'History of The Couslands', would that be over in the noble section or the history section?"

"History. The family was taken out by Howe, before we gave him what he deserved. Of course, they made the mistake of trusting a venomous snake, so that was their own fault." He shrugged, and walked back over to his desk, absentmindedly knocking a few books off one of the stacks beside it.

Joran stiffened at the callousness in his tone. "Nobody deserves to be betrayed. Trusting someone isn't a crime."

Zevran glanced over his shoulder as he rifled through some of the forms on his desk. "Oh no? I can tell you many stories about those whose trust was rewarded by death and betrayal. It's a weakness, like any other."

Joran clenched his fists, but walked over to the desk and knelt to retrieve the books on the floor. "Sometimes it's worth the risk."

Zevran pulled his desk chair back and slid into it smoothly, raising one eyebrow at the other man. "I take it you were been betrayed, once." The emphasis on the last word was impossible to miss.

Joran straightened up, holding the books close to his chest. "That would imply that I trusted the shems that hurt us."

"Then why does it bother you so much?" Zevran leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and resting his chin on top of his folded hands.

"Shems talk about us like we're cattle. Dumb beasts, without feelings, who don't matter. But even if that's true, they're supposed to treat their animals well, to make sure they're healthy and safe so that the animals can serve them. A sick cow won't give milk, an unhappy sheep doesn't grow good wool. They're supposed to leave us alone unless they need something." He walked a couple steps away, and slammed the books down on another table with such force that Zevran heard the table creak. "They took the women and hurt them! That's not how you treat animals, and that's not how you treat people, either!"

Zevran was frozen, unsure of what to do. He had meant only to tease the young man, but there was such pain here, it was like a festering wound. He rose from the chair and went to Joran, putting his arm around his shoulders. "I'm sorry, my friend. I did not mean to open old wounds."

Joran shook his head and looked away. "It was ages ago, now. Three years, almost." He looked up at Zevran, and there was uncertainty in his eyes. "That's why I left Denerim. I... I killed the man responsible. He was the son of the Arl of Denerim. I wouldn't have, if he hadn't... hadn't hurt Shianni." He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, angry with himself for the tears starting there. "She's my cousin. She stood up to them, and they wanted to teach her a lesson, so they..." He shook his head again. "We were too late to stop them, but I had to do something."

"Of course you did. Vengeance is not something that can be pushed aside, especially when those you care about were hurt." The blonde elf squeezed his shoulder, then turned Joran to face him. "I apologize for making you remember. Some memories are best forgotten."

The dark-haired elf felt dizzy as he gazed up into those golden eyes, such a gentle expression on a face he was used to seeing teasing smirks on. Hesitantly, he raised a hand to touch that lovely face, and whispered, "And what have you forgotten?"

Zevran jerked back, as is he had been burned, and released his hold on Joran. He turned. "That is a subject that we need not discuss."

Joran caught his arm and held on, a look of determination set on his face. "You got to hear my secrets, and you've been teasing me all day. Don't I deserve one of yours?"

So quickly he didn't know exactly what had happened, Joran found himself thrown against the bookcase behind him, and Zevran was kissing him, so hard it hurt, and touching him, and he forgot for a moment where he was or what was happening. Before he had time to begin thinking again, the golden haired man broke the kiss, and turned his head to whisper in Joran's ear, breath hot against his neck. "You want to know my secrets? You think I've been teasing you? This is nothing." He withdrew, just far enough for Joran to miss his breath. "Come to my room tonight, and I'll tell you anything you want."

"I... I don't know..."

Zevran's smile was cruel, and made him want to run away, but there was something in it that he couldn't place, that made him burn. "I know you want me. If you show up, I'll tell you everything. For a price."

Joran's throat was dry, and he swallowed, trying to get rid of the ashy taste in his mouth. "I... all right. I'll come."

Zevran nodded, the smile gone. "Good. I have other business to attend to. I'll see you later." Without another word or even a backward glance, he walked out of the office, and Joran fought the numb feeling in his legs to keep from collapsing as he thought about what he had just agreed to.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran and Joran discuss the past over a bottle of Antivan wine, and the evening goes downhill from there.

Joran's heart was in his throat, but he steeled himself and swallowed a few times to try to force it back down. He had been standing outside Zevran's room for five minutes already, and he knew if he didn't get up the nerve to knock soon, he would have to run back to the barracks and hide in shame.

Just as he stepped up to knock, the door opened, and he swallowed again. "He-hello."

The tan-skinned man leaned against the doorframe, the flickering firelight behind him making him seem like a dream, or perhaps a mirage. "Good evening. I almost began to think you weren't showing up. Come in." He wore only a sheer robe, and Joran shivered as he realized how little it left to the imagination.

Taking a deep breath, Joran stepped into the room. He was surprised to see how sparsely furnished it was, only two chairs and a low table in front of the fireplace, and a bit further back was the large, low bed. He tore his eyes away from that, blushing as he noticed Zevran's sly grin and raised eyebrow. "I, um, well... That is..." He closed his eyes, trying to shut the distracting view out so he could concentrate. "Th-thank you. For talking to me." He opened his eyes again, feeling calmer, and kept his eyes carefully trained on the other man's face.

"Mmm, well, you are right. Considering how much you've shared with me today, it's only fair if I reciprocate. Would you like some wine?" Without waiting for an answer, he picked the bottle set on the low table up and began pouring it into two glasses. He held one out to Joran. "It's a fine Antivan red, best enjoyed with lovely company."

Joran blushed again and took the delicate glass, taking a sip without so much as a sniff. "It's very good, thank you."

Zevran gestured for him to sit, and did so himself, looking at Joran levelly. "... You know, you are very trusting. There are any number of things I could have slipped into your glass, either before your arrival or while pouring the wine."

The dark-haired man almost dropped the wine glass in his haste to set it on the table. "I... You wouldn't do that, would you?" He looked at the glass again, then gave the man across from him a small smile. "No. I don't believe you would."

The Antivan elf raised his eyebrow again and smirked. "I am an assassin, you know. Although you're correct in thinking that I wouldn't. Perhaps my time in Amaranthine has made me lose my touch."

Joran tentatively picked the glass up again, examining it closely before taking another sip. He let the wine settle on his tongue for a minute before swallowing it, and the warm spicy feeling in his mouth made him feel a little more bold. "So what about your past, then?"

"Ah, well, it's fairly boring, really. My mother was a Dalish elf who fell in love with an Antivan woodcutter. She ended up in a whorehouse, trying to work off his debts after he died, and there I was born and raised, until the Crows bought me. I never knew her, she died birthing me." He sipped his wine nonchalantly, ignoring the look of shock on the other man's face as he continued. "The Crows trained me to be an assassin, and I was hired to kill the Grey Wardens, not long after their journey began. I failed, and for some reason that I still don't entirely understand, Laeti allowed me to live, and I joined their band of misfits attempting to stop the Blight." He leaned forward, letting the robe fall open further to display his bare chest. "Would you like some more wine?"

He noticed his glass was empty, and wondered where it had gone. "Er, yes, thank you. So you really did try to kill the Commander..." He contemplated this, taking another sip of the wine once his glass had been refilled. "But... why didn't you try to kill her again later? I mean, surely once you'd gained their trust, they would've been much easier targets."

Zevran was surprised at how deep the question cut, but he hid his emotions easily. "The Crows would have killed me if they found out I failed, possibly even if I later succeeded. There was no certain gain in killing them. Besides, there were... other diversions to be had there." He grinned, but the memory still felt sharp and jagged in his memory, and the slyness his face showed did not ring entirely true.

Joran's eyes were wide. "You... and the Commander?" He opened his mouth to continue the question, but realized how it must have ended and closed it again.

"Ah, it was only a brief flirtation. We ended it amicably enough, once she began falling in love with her current paramour." Zevran's eyes seemed to glow in the firelight as he gazed at the younger man. "Is there anything else you wish to ask me, before I... exact payment?"

The dark-haired man fidgeted with the wine glass. "Er, well... Do you miss Antiva?" He was grasping at straws and cursed himself for being so obvious about it.

Zevran looked mildly surprised, and thought for a moment before he answered. "Sometimes. The language of Ferelden is a bit harsh on the ears compared to my country. No one can make a proper fish chowder here, and the whores are quite a bit more expensive, even the cheap ones. However, at least for the moment, Ferelden is my home." He stood and placed his wine glass on the table, next to the almost empty bottle, then leaned over Joran's chair, his face and bare chest much too close. "Now, if you are done plying me with questions, there are other matters to attend to."

Joran shrank as far back in the chair as he could, but all escape routes had been cut off. His head was spinning, and he didn't think it was entirely the wine. "I... I've never done this before."

The blonde man smiled, then straightened up and held out his hand. "Don't worry, I promise I'll be gentle."

The younger man blushed for what felt like the fiftieth time and took the proffered hand. He found himself pulled into a tight embrace and gasped as he realized how little fabric separated them. He felt dizzy as strong hands stroked his back and then down to settle on his buttocks, squeezing just hard enough to make him squeek. He covered his mouth in embarrassment, his cheeks burning even redder.

Zevran chuckled and released his grip, taking one of the other man's hands and leading him to the bed. "It is not so different from making love to a woman, you know." He drew the dark-haired elf in front of him and began untying the laces on the front of his simple shirt.

"... I've never done that either." Joran blushed again at the incredulous look.

"Truly? A young man as beautiful as yourself? Mmm, it seems that I may be luckier than I thought." He pulled the shirt off and began caressing the pale skin underneath, making Joran catch his breath. "Untouched by any hands but mine... Somehow, it simply makes the thought of corrupting you even more exciting." He leaned forward and kissed Joran, softly, then growing more insistent as his hands began traveling further down.

Joran almost surrendered to the feel of those strong hands, but something made him hesitate. "... Stop." He said it softly, then when that didn't work, he placed his hands on the blonde man's chest and pushed him away.

Zevran raised an eyebrow, but the smirk didn't leave his lips. "Did you remember another question?"

The dark-haired elf shook his head. "No. But it doesn't matter, because you haven't told me anything. You said you'd tell me everything, but I could've found out just as much from Laeti or Alistair, without either of them trying to... coerce me." He crossed his arms over his bare chest, trying not to focus on how naked he felt, even with most of his clothes still on. "You don't trust me at all. I'm just... a toy to you."

The stony look on Zevran's face was answer enough, but he spoke anyway. "You needn't take it personally, my dear Warden. I don't trust anyone."

"... Well, I guess we're done here then." Joran grabbed his shirt, feeling like a cold hand was squeezing the inside of his chest as he left the room.

The blonde elf looked after him for a moment, then calmly walked over to the table by the fireplace and threw the bottle of wine into the flames.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joran and Alistair have a little heart to heart, Laeti talks to Zevran, and then Laeti and Alistair compare notes.

Alistair silently cursed whoever thought adding towers to the castle of Amaranthine was a good idea. He had climbed up and then down two of them already, and was near the top of the third, hoping that Joran was there.

Just after lunch, several of the recruits that shared Joran's barracks had come to him and shared their concerns. The young elf had returned much later than normal to the room, just after midnight, and had cried into his pillow for more than an hour before falling asleep. While they had no idea what had caused it, it was common knowledge in the keep that Joran had been assigned as Zevran's assistant, and that Zevran had a habit of teasing new recruits. Alistair had assured them he would do what he could, and had spent the last hour going all over the keep in search of the young man, after informing Laeti of what he'd been told.

He took a short breather at the top of the stairs, then pushed open the heavy wooden door. The air was chill up at the top of the tower, as it had been at the top of the others, but he was rewarded by the sight of Joran leaning on the battlements, staring off into the distance.

The ex-Templar cleared his throat, loudly, but Joran didn't move. He shrugged and walked over to where the dark-haired man was, leaning over enough so he could see his face. "You can be a very hard man to find, when you want to be. I noticed you weren't at breakfast this morning. Is something wrong?"

Joran shook his head, but the dark circles under his eyes and the paleness of his face were obvious indications. "I'm fine. I didn't feel hungry."

"Would that have anything to do with a certain ex-Crow?" Alistair felt a stab of regret at the joking tone when Joran flinched. "Eh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make light of it. Do you want to talk about it?"

Joran rubbed at his eyes as fresh tears started in them. "I... I don't understand him. I thought we were friends! He's been so nice to me since I got here, helped me learn what was expected, Laeti told me he even watched over me the night before the Joining, but he... he doesn't really care. I feel stupid for thinking he might." He looked over at the taller man, desperation showing on his face. "He's so closed off, behind the jokes and innuendo. Why won't he be open with me?"

Alistair ran a hand through his hair and laughed, nervously. "Well... wow, that's a lot. Let me get this straight. You want to be friends with him, but he doesn't?"

Joran blushed and mumbled, just loud enough for Alistair to catch the words "I want... more than friends".

"Aha, I see. You want to be, er, more than friends, but he's too closed off for you." The red-haired man thought for a moment before speaking again. "Did he mention to you that he and Laeti were together for a short time?"

The dark-haired elf nodded. "Yes, he said it was a brief thing, and that it ended when you and she got together."

The ex-Templar sighed. "It's actually a bit more complicated than that, I'm afraid. You see, Laeti became involved with him because he was an elf, like her, and he made it easy. She was young, and still had very little knowledge of the world outside her clan, and he was very... accessible. She ended up with him, not really knowing how it had happened, but then she began having feelings for me, and ended it rather abruptly with him. This is all what she told me, and what I observed." He scratched his chin, a habit he had when thinking. "She said that he was hurt by it. More than she expected, from how lightly he had taken their relationship. She told me that she feels like it was probably the first time he let anyone in in a long time, and she slammed the door in his face." He smiled, a bit weakly. "I can't say I'm unhappy about it, because of where things led for us, but it might explain some of why he's acting this way to you right now."

Joran had been staring off into the distance, but when Alistair finished speaking, he looked up at the other man again. "What should I do, then?"

Alistair shook his head. "I'm not sure. I've only ever had one relationship in my life, so I'm probably not the best person to ask for advice." He hurried on after Joran's face fell. "But, if you want my opinion, well... think about what you want, and try to go after it. If Zevran won't trust you, perhaps you haven't given him a solid enough reason to."

The dark-haired elf thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "I see." He gave the red-haired man a wan smile. "Thank you, Alistair. You're a good friend."

"Laeti tells me I have my moments. Speaking of which, I'd better go tell her you're okay, she was worried you were going to fling yourself off one of the towers or something." He patted the young man's shoulder, then headed back toward the door to the tower.

Joran listened for a moment to hear the heavy thud as the door closed behind him, then returned to his thoughts about a certain handsome assassin.

\------------------------------------

Laeti banged on the door to Zevran's room for the third time. "Come on, Zev, I know you're in there! Your office is empty and you haven't been to breakfast or lunch today, so let me in before I pick the lock!"

She raised her fist to bang on it again, and narrowly missed the tanned elf's face as he opened the door. He was wearing a sheer robe that left little to the imagination, and she rolled her eyes at his sly look. "Yes, yes, you're half-naked, now can I come in?"

Zevran shook his head. "There was a time this would have made you blush and stammer, my lovely Commander." He stepped aside, closing the door behind her. "Be careful, there's broken glass over by the fireplace."

She raised an eyebrow. "Dropping things, Zev? That's so unlike you."

He grinned, but she noticed it didn't reach his eyes. "Yes, well, unfortunately sometimes things are knocked over, when in the throes of passion."

"Really? Because from what I understand, absolutely nothing passionate happened last night." She frowned at him. "Alistair's still looking for Joran. The recruits in the barracks said he was crying half the night. What the hell did you do?"

The blond elf shrugged, but she could see the stiffness in his shoulders. "Nothing. I invited him to come talk about things he seemed interested in, we shared a bottle of wine, then he left."

She sighed. "Why do I get the feeling you're not being honest with me? What reason is there to hide?"

"Oh, and I suppose you regularly make a habit of sharing intimate details of your relationship with Alistair with the recruits, do you?" He was snarling at her, face twisted into a grimace. "Nothing happened. Which is not what was supposed to happen."

Laeti eyed him critically for a moment, then shook her head. "He's not me, Zev."

The tan elf laughed, a forced sound. "That would be a feat indeed, if he were."

She frowned harder. "You know what I mean. You're still trying to seduce that innocent girl fresh from her Dalish clan, knowing nothing of the world. Joran may be innocent in some ways, but he knows how the world works. If you really want something from him, you're going to have to change your tactics." She shook her head again. "Not that I approve of you seducing him, but I know you well enough by now to know that sex isn't all you want from him."

"Ah, is there nothing I can hide from you, my dear Grey Warden?" The words felt bitter on his tongue, and he shook his head. "There is nothing more to say. Please leave."

Laeti went, stopping for a moment to place her hand on his shoulder, then moving past him to the door.

He waited only a moment after he heard the soft snap of it closing, then sank into one of the chairs, covering his face with his hands.

\------------------------------------

Laeti sighed as she stepped into the large room she called her own. It was barely mid-afternoon, but she was exhausted. Nothing too pressing needed to be done by the end of the day, and so she had decided, after all the drama, to take a much-needed nap.

She had only just pulled off her shoes when she heard the door open behind her, knowing by the sound of the footsteps that is was Alistair. She stood and turned to face him, surprised by the bright smile he wore. "Did you find him?"

Her lover nodded as he walked further into the room. "He'll be fine. A bit lovesick, I'd say, but none the worse for wear." He crossed the distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders, kissing her forehead. "You worry too much, my love."

Laeti hugged him tightly, burying her face in his strong chest as she clung to him. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I don't know what I would do without you."

"That's funny, I feel the same way." The red-haired man lifted her chin with one hand and leaned down to kiss her gently.

She moved her arms up so they were draped over his neck, one hand holding his head to prolong the kiss. When she finally pulled back, both of them were gasping for breath, and she pulled on the front of his shirt as she began backing up toward the bed.

Never one to miss such an obvious invitation, Alistair moved forward until they were right at the edge. The look in Laeti's eyes was something he hadn't seen in weeks, and it made him feel hot all over. When they reached the edge of the bed, he tackled her, making them both fall onto the soft mattress, laughing breathlessly.

The laughter quickly turned to soft moans as he ran his hands down her body, feeling every soft curve of her through the thin cotton clothes she wore. He slid one hand down under her pants, bypassing the soft panties she wore to touch her clit. She cried out as he began running his fingers over it, gently, then slid one finger inside her.

She clung to him, lost in the sensations and heat that she felt as he continued. "Oh, Alistair..." She breathed his name huskily, making him want her even more. He responded by pulling her shirt up, just enough to let him begin trailing kisses up her stomach and onto her soft breasts, all the while continuing the movement with his fingers further down.

He slid another finger inside, and was rewarded by more soft cries as she arched her back, holding his head at her breast with one hand as the other clutched the sheets beneath her. He responded with teeth against her skin, bites almost hard enough to hurt, but they only drove her closer to the edge, and he increased the tempo of his fingers as she writhed, breathlessly calling his name as she climaxed.

He grinned up at her as she tried to catch her breath, withdrawing his fingers and licking them slowly. "It has been a while, hasn't it?"

She laughed, a sound of pure joy and relief, and then, so quickly he almost didn't realize what was happening, she pushed him over onto his back, straddled his chest and grinned wickedly down at him. "And it isn't over yet."

As she pulled off her shirt and began untying the laces to his pants, Alistair chuckled. "Thank the Maker."

 


End file.
